


Attention to the Devil

by Spymaster13



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cutting, DarkThirteenthDoctor, Electrocution, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jodie Whittaker is The Master (Doctor Who), Suicidal Thoughts, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spymaster13/pseuds/Spymaster13
Summary: The Doctor has found out the truth about herself at long last, but with a cost. The Master's soul will never be pure again, and his mind forever tainted with the truth about his creation. But the Doctor is sick of being lied to, over and over for all of her lives. This needs to stop.Good thing there's an easy target for her to get her rage out.(Inspired by a twitter conversation between myself and MrganeWho)
Relationships: The Doctor | Theta Sigma/The Master | Koschei (Doctor Who: Academy Era), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

ATTENTION TO THE DEVIL

.....

The Master felt the stickiness of tape across his mouth as his hazy vision came back into focus. He had been at this for hours. Perhaps days. There was no way to tell how long he had been in this damp, colorless room. His captor had done well to ensure the time passed became a distant memory to him. But then his captor was always prominent in mind control. He always knew his captor showed promise in that particular area, but never expected that they would actually make use of it. And on him, well, that was the icing of the cake. He was his captors experiment in the subject. A cruel irony. He was fed each day with measly scraps, and was left with a humiliating bowl of water to drink out of in such a way that he had to force his chair to tilt just to the height of the shelf, his arms wrapped in thick ropes behind his back. His skin burned. He felt blood dried on his backside trickling down his spine to fall to the ground in a thick puddle. His face was scarred heavily with the sheer blade of a knife. He'd taken to counting the seconds of the day until his captor came to the dank, dark room. Always at precisely 150 seconds, the heavy bolts and locks slid open and the door clanked free, breathing a thousand years of relief. He felt his breath hitch in his throat, wondering what could be in store, and how it could possibly be worse than last time. 

They were cruel, his captor. They knew each and every way in which he ticked. They knew how to taunt him and use his weaknesses to torture him with exquisite agony. The worst part? They knew this was what he wanted all along. The beatings, utter darkness and humiliation he could do without. But the constant need, need for attention, need for the spotlight in the room upon him- it satisfied his every craving in a most deprived way. He found it wonderful- disgraceful, at the same time. His mind was in overdrive much of the day. Waiting and wondering when the next punishment would be, sometimes two in a day if his actions accounted for it. And yet still- he felt a twinge of *pride.* He always knew his captor would fare well in the darkness of their mind once it was set free. He knew they would be a force unreckoned with when each and every strand had stripped them of the persona they had built for themselves in every cruel and possible way. That was his goal all along, and he had finally obtained his victory.

Just- perhaps not in the way he had imagined. The Master was always the master manipulator. He liked power. He liked to be in control, he liked seizing every opportunity that came his way. He would do anything for the rush, the dance of his hearts thrumming against his chest when he killed. Taking hold of something so innocent and precious and squeezing the life out of it as he watched. Anything for his captor's attention. Anything to get his captor worked up, to make her snap. He knew his captor would be different when all strands of her mind came loose. He wasn't prepared for just *how* different she would be. He'd done many a sin to her current form, and she wanted revenge for all of them. Breaking him down bit by bit until he had nothing left to lose. He still had quite a nasty slash across his nose, his brown floppy hair drowning in dried blood each time it fell in front of his eyes. He had never looked more pathetic. One eye was bruised, the other moving frantically across the dark room as his captor strode across to stand in front of him, tall, intimidating.

"So," her voice was low, dark, husky as she paced around his little chair. "So. Y' haven' answered for what you've done yet. On'ly I get to decide when you're finished here. As much as I'm sure you'd like t' pack up and go. Leaves y' in quite a compromising position, doesn't it?" 

The Master remained silent. He hadn't spoken for days. The only utterance he had given his captor had earned him a whip slash on his back; he still had the stinging patterns of block shaped scars. Since then he had learned who had power here, and though he had finally earned what he craved so long, he was not in control. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise. 

"Good," she praised him tauntingly. "Y've learned not to talk back. Wasn't sure how long that'd take ya. I want to do something different today. We've covered the basics of what you've done to me. Now- oh, this is all *before* we move on to what you've done to others. Well before. But this is what you *wanted*, wasn't it? Oh, do say it was. Y' can' have just wanted me on my knees sayin' your name. I'd almost equate that to....dull." 

The Masters bottom lip twitched, much in the way his captor's had when he had her in the exact same compromising position. And here was the most humiliating part of every session with his captor. When she pulled his chair just inches off the wood floor, when she made it so he was eye level with her, taunting him, teasing him with equal status for a split second. And then- lowering him just, just below her chin so he was looking up at her. 

"Now, love," she said, her husky voice surrounding him. "My name. Just like we've agreed, remember?" 

"Doctor," he tried in a cracked voice, earning a smack across the cheek on dried blood, starting the flow once more to a soft trickle from his eye. "M-master." 

"Beg your pardon?" She tilted her head, her blonde hair swishing across her shoulder.

"Master," he muttered, his hearts thrumming in a soft flicker of fear, his legs twitching. 

"Can't hear you, love," the Doctor leaned forward, her deadly hazel eyes glaring him down.

"Master," he said a final time.

The Doctor pursed her lips, but seemed satisfied. This was the end of his equated time to speak. She knew exactly how to break him thanks to their thousand year history together. Granted, she was still finding her way around this body and how it moved, reacted to certain situations. There had been a particularly humiliating session a few days ago where she lined it up precisely the way he had when he violated her as O, on the night the Kassavan "attacked" his hut. He hadn't realized until it was too late, and she didn't seem to have any intention to stop. He still had a rather nasty bruise on his backside from her strong slam of his body into the wood walls. Her soft, Doctor-like voice, she could put it on any second. And she had done, tried to heal him. But he'd stayed silent even then, only enraging her further. She had since implemented the new greeting he gave her upon entry, securing it as his only time to speak when she visited. 

It was always a surprise to him which punishment he would receive and what he had done to deserve it. Sometimes he agreed wholeheartedly with her, surprising himself. The attack on her new, vulnerable body as O, the slow seduction as O was painful enough at the time. Now, on the receiving end- it was decidedly worse. Much worse. He would have to *really* know his next potential suitor was not going to harm him before advancing to physical contact. If he ever got out of this room, that is. The Doctor didn't seem keen on letting him go any time soon. Ever since she had found out she was no longer Gallifreyan and in fact, never had been, she had become very unhinged. So dark. Like him. But he held one, tiny little victory over her. It got him through the long hours in the dark, silence surrounding his bruised and battered figure. 

She was not the last of the time lords. That had always been him. She was hurting the last of her kind, the race that she had created. He was the weak link in the great and pompous time lords, infecting the universe with their endless ambition. He *hated* what he was. Before he had been captured by her, he was so desperate to end everything. For one glorious moment, he thought she would press the button, he thought the Doctor would destroy Gallifrey in the hands of the Master, killing her best enemy in the explosion. He'd been ready. So ready to die. It would be better than this. Sweet, sweet release from the endless torture. He'd tried since he escaped. Tried more than he would ever admit to her. Perhaps that was another goal of hers. To see just how damaged his mind truly was.

"An old favorite," the Doctor said as she strode to the torture shelf, he liked to call it. "No- a few old favorites. And before that, an interrogation. You'll be tellin' me exactly what you meant goin' off with Yaz at Barton's Villa. She told me everythin'. Your charmin', sweet smiles as O. Your flirty little whispers, your wanderin' hands on the motorbike. 'Stick with me, Yaz. I control everythin.' Not anymore, eh?" 

"I-" his voice was cracked from dehydration, not speaking for days, only a few words a day. "M-meant t' break you. Tear y' down. From the inside. She didn't know."

"Didn't work that well, did it?" the Doctor chuckled quietly. "Y' didn't break me. You made me ten times stronger than you ever intended. Shame how it always seems to work that way. Look where I've got you now. Weak, pathetic. Begging for mercy. You'll stay silent this time 'round. Might permit ya a scream or two." 

The Master opened his mouth, wanting to ask what she meant only to have it secured by a soft cloth gag. Gods, please, no more. He wasn't fooled by now. The softer the cloth, the stronger the torture. He'd underestimated how much the young police officer meant to the Doctor. Her little pets were never collateral damage to her. The Doctor caressed his damaged back mockingly, the hairs on his spine standing on edge as he felt a shimmer of her gold regeneration energy work its way into his skin. He screwed his eyes shut, a soft whine escaping his lips. The Doctor let out a soft, threatening laugh.

"That's right," she said. "Not forgetting who made you, I hope? A reality you'll never be able to escape. No mattah how hard y' try."

The Master cast his one good eye upon the bloody wood floor, his body starting to tremble before the first blow. This was certainly what she had intended; the whips always hit harder when he was already moving. She had selected the one he hated the most; the one with the teasing tassel she always ran along his lower back in hopes of getting him aroused before slashing his skin. He didn't flinch. Didn't move, didn't cry out. The first blow came down, second, third. More and more strength as she went along, silent. He heard a sharp intake of breath from her, as though she was considering something. And then- his body jerked heavily as she brought the whip down in a rain of hits along his spine, his old wounds reopening and forming new, scattered, purple patterns. 

She brought the whip down again and again, a good hour must have past before she finally stepped away from his trembling, shivering body. A new, glistening pool of blood lay on the floor.

"Y' hid yourself from me for so long," the Doctor growled as she tilted his bruised head up, his eye frantically trying to look away. "Played with my feelings. Made me fall for a human. Violated every part of my new body before I'd even got used to it. Y' humiliated me in front of everyone. Y' hid my past. My future. Y' hid who I was. Thought it would break me. Thought you could make something of my own blood, use my own tortured childhood against me. Y' never cared. Never. Tha's just a guise for your sick, twisted games. I'm almost- disappointed. I though'- I though' I made you better." 

The Master had to really bite his tongue here in hopes of not bleeding out completely. Made him better. *That* was laughable. The Doctor had done nothing of the sort. All she'd ever done had been to break him down and call it a victory. The wounds she had made this time were deep, very deep. He could feel them cutting through skin- surely they would have hit bone by now? He wasn't in control of what his single working eye did, not even realizing that a steady stream of silent tears had started to fall from it. The left eye was too damaged to let bodily liquid escape. She didn't seem to notice, but when had the Doctor noticed anything about the Master's pain? 

Something different. She had wanted to do something different for punishment today. Oh, gods, was the whip not enough? He was already bleeding, his bones were breaking. He barely noticed as she took hold of his arms, untying him from the tiny stool. Where was she taking him? Oh. Just here. Here in the middle of the floor, alone. His eyes grew wide when she pulled out chains, cuffing his hands to the floor, stretched out on either side. He was kneeling beneath her, like always. When she came back, the Doctor held a machine that he could just make out the word 'wattage.' She meant to electrocute him. Just like Missy. He flinched, tilting his head up as she poked and jabbed the wires into his soft, tan skin. Her porcelain fingers grazing over his nipples to to make them stand on edge from the dank cold. She jabbed the wires into the weakest parts of his skin she could find. And finally- she hit bone. 

"A-aAH!" his voice was cracked, terrified. 

For the first time since he'd been captured, the first time since she'd taunted him and silenced him, he cried out. Cried out in pain, his body shivering, fresh blood dripping down his face, his bruised eye staring up at his captor. He was- sobbing. Openly sobbing. His arms outstretched, hung out to dry. At the sound of his voice, she seemed to freeze. Her hand stopped against his skin, her brilliant hazel eyes flashing up at him. Checking. Checking if he was really- oh gods, he was crying. His broken, cracked cry had shook her to her core. Oh gods, his skin. His beautiful tan skin. So much- blood. The Doctor dropped the machine with shaking hands, taking several steps back as she took in the scene around her, as though waking up from a long dream. 

"Please," the Master trembled. "Please- I'll be g-good. I'll be good. Please." 

The Doctor's chest heaved as she looked at her best friend. God- what the fuck had she done? Never travel alone, her companions had always said. You need someone to stop you. What had done it? What had woken her up? The last thing she remembered- Gallifrey. The endless, burning rage. She'd found him again. She'd taken him here. And- Missy. Missy's words. He was speaking her words, her beg for mercy before she was electrocuted and sentenced to death by brain damage. Of course the Master had cried out in fear, in pain. His best friend, executing him all over again. 

His sobs showed no signs of ebbing away as she clutched her head with a sharp exclamation. She saw it all so clearly. The huge, foreboding lake stretched out for miles, the unknown destination. Nardole reading from River's diary. The monks taking her to the execution stage- the prisoner will kneel. She wasn't the prisoner that time. Missy was the prisoner. Missy, the lover of chaos. Missy, the Master's soul. Her words. She was still in there. Still inside this shrunken body the Master had stolen in a desperate attempt to stay alive. To stay alive for *her.* And she'd just done everything in her power to destroy it. 

The Doctor hated it- hated being a god. Her hearts thrummed against her chest, her neck muscle twitching. She had cut and sliced her best friend. Mutilated his body. Her soft, small hands were shaking, her hair trembling in front of her eyes as she took in the full extent of damage. Broken ribs. Bones sticking out of his bloody shoulder, oh god- a wound so deep she feared infection, right above his most sensitive area. Her hands were trembling as she rushed over to him, mute, gently pulling the wires out of his damaged skin. She was still shaking as she unhooked the shackles, soothed her hands along his stretched, bruised arms. The Master tensed up at skin to skin contact, oh, she hated that *more.* 

"I'll b' good, I'll b' good..." he was muttering through his sobs. 

"Hey," she said quietly. "Shh, love. Come here. C'mere, it's alright. It's alright, you're safe now. Theta's here." 

Not an inch of his skin lay untouched, she had whipped him everywhere and created patterned whip markings across every patch. His body heaved with his gentle sobs as she pulled him into her arms, furious. Furious at herself. She'd hurt her best friend. When there was no one left in the universe for the Oncoming Storm, she'd hurt Koschei Oakdown. 

"Theta," the Master spoke, hesitant, as if not believing her. "M' Theta." 

"Shh, that's right," she repeated. "My Koschei. You're safe with me always. Here. Stand up. Gently now, that's it. Well done. Shh, you're alright. M' taking you to the bath now, and we'll get you all nice an' cleaned up. M' so sorry- M' so sorry I hurt you. No matter wha' I do, it won' be enough."

"Don'- hurt me," he said quietly. "Don' hurt me again." 

"Never," the Doctor agreed gently as she held open the doors. "Funny this- makes y' wonder who the devil really is." 

The Master stayed silent as he pondered her words. In that moment, finally, the Doctor and the Master leaned on each other as they left the dank, dark room of tortuous memories behind.  
.....


	2. The Devil and His Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of torture put onto him by his childhood best friend, the Doctor learns exactly what she did to the Master while her brain snapped.
> 
> And, if it's at all possible, she's going to *try* with all her hearts to get him to love again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to post this just as a torture fic, but Thoschei is too good and pure for no aftercare. Enjoy!

PART TWO: The Devil and His Goddess

The Doctor had never felt more ashamed of herself. Her hearts were twisting in pain, thrumming wildly against her ribcage as she walked with her best enemy draped over her shoulder, constantly coughing up blood. Blood from wounds caused entirely by her. The Master didn't seem to be able to *stop* crying once he had started, which she could hardly blame him for. He'd been silent for days on end at the end of a knife blade, threatened with far worse if an utterance of sound escaped his dry, parched lips. Gods, he was dehydrated, starved. His normally lean and strongly built body cut up, barely walking with his intense limp. Which to take care of first? The Doctor's mind whirled, her guilt ebbing away at her thoughts. She had given up her soft shushes, her gentle cooing noises, after he didn't react to her favorite childhood name; Koschcat. His mind was broken, his hands shaking. Terrified of her. She *hated* it, hated it so much her fumbling hands were in danger of dropping him as she gently edged him towards the shower. His mutilated body flinched from even a soft, gentle touch of her hand. She had no idea how she was going to manage cleaning him if this was all it took to get him worked up. 

Her fault, it was her fault, she kept reminding herself. Her thumb brushed over a particularly nasty patch of skin; most recently jabbed into with the wire from the electrocution box. Would she have done it? Would she have sent her best friend through all the childhood torture and pain she felt herself every single day on Gallifrey? Would she have subjected him to the heartless nature of Techteun, kept around only as an experiment to crack the code of regeneration? An ability she happened to posses, had no idea how to control it herself, nor how many lives she had led. She carried the wounded figure into the cool tiled room, a soft whimper of relief escaping his lips as he felt the air from a different part of the TARDIS. Gods, how didn't she realize she was suffocating him in that horrible place? Logically speaking, as the Doctor loved logical thought in the face of danger, the only air that he would receive would be his own circulation and her occasional breaths from her visits. She hadn't thought of that. She *should* have thought of that. Her hand gently caressed down his back in hopes of calming him, his tan skin rippling against her touch.

What had driven her to this point? The point of no return, the point of snapping her sanity? It wasn't him. It couldn't have been him, he didn't have that power over her. She'd made that very clear on Gallifrey. So then what- what had overwhelmed her mind? The final push. Ah. Electrocution. The revelation of Brenden in the Matrix, the reminder that it had been her all along. The distant images in her mind all through her lives, a constant lie. She always assumed it was a past version of Ireland. Perhaps a soldier she needed to save. But no, she was wrong the whole time. The soldier was her. The child was her. The entire time lord race was built on her; a burden she never asked for, nor wanted. She was the soldier that needed saving. Her hands danced over her best friend's broken body, lowering him into the tub of steaming water she had prepared. Her chest seized up at his scream, cracked, graveled. 

"Hey, shh, Kosch, it's alrigh', you're alright," her voice came out high pitched in her panic. "S' hot, I'm sorry, but it's going to wash out all your wounds. I don't want you to get an infection, Kosch. Tha's it, you're alright." 

His chest heaved with terrified breaths as he gulped in more fresh air, his limbs slowly relaxing for the first time since she had him in the TARDIS. She couldn't help a soft smile at the small mercy, his body was willing to heal. That was always the first step; if the body was willing, the mind would usually follow. The Doctor hesitated, then ran a gentle hand through his hair at his soft groan at feeling the water wash over dried, sticky blood. It seemed to help; his lips twitched into a half upturned smile as his head rested on the cool shower tile. She reached for the soap smelling of fresh lavender, saving the lemon scent for his hair as it was the one she always used. She'd been too embarassed to ask Yaz about women's hair products and instead opted for a short cut so the hassle of styling was virtually non existent, safe for when the ends of her hair curled inwards in humidity. There was no question that his muscles weren't strong enough at the moment to scrub himself clean, nor wash his own hair.

"Wh-y?" 

His cracked voice broke her hearts when he spoke, blood trickling from his chapped lips as he tried to get a word out that wasn't 'Master' or a response to an interrogation. And the first word he had spoken of his own free will, the facade of the Master destroyed, was a question. A question of why she had done this to him, which her mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour was still trying to answer on its own. The Doctor opened her mouth to respond- but couldn't get a word out. *Coward.* She scolded herself. Coward, you beat him, you answer him. 

"I-" she broke off. "Because- you...you were there." 

Horrible. She couldn't have phrased it worse. Fuck her socially awkward mind. Her expression softened at his features twisting once more in rage, in fear, in something unreadable altogether. He let out a hollow laugh, an insane laugh, low and rumbling, one that made her body tremble all over again. The water was starting to slosh around his wounds, making him hiss in pain. 

"Course," he mumbled, his voice a soft whisper. "Why else?" 

"Kosch," she whispered gently. "I- I didn' mean to go as far as I did. I don't know what happened- my mind, it- after Gallifrey, it's all blank. What ya did- what you've done. T' me- it...it left a mark." 

"I know," the Master grumbled, turning away from her and landing on a painful bruise. 

"How- how can ya know?" 

"Seriously?" the Master raised an eyebrow. "Every- every time, Doctor. Every time you- came in. Another lecture. Another- beating. Y' don't remember- *any* of it?" 

"No," the Doctor replied seriously, her expression soft. "I told ya, since Gallifrey- just blank. I don't remember coming to find you again. I don't remember *how* I found you. I don't remember where you were hiding; there's one reassurance." 

She didn't like the way the Master was looking at her at all, his features mixing from utter rage and fear to something else entirely. Something she'd never seen in him before. It was like- she was looking at a stranger.

"Who- are you, Doctor?" his trembling voice whispered. 

"I don't know," the Doctor replied after a moment, truthfully, then shook her head. "No. I'm your friend. Your best friend, Kosch. D'- D' you remember? The academy? D' you remember what you burnt? I- I imagine it's like that, really. Did you know? Did you know- what- you were burning?" 

The Master swallowed his own blood, hating the salty taste as it cleansed his tongue, looking down from his position leaning haphazardly in the tub. She had never looked more hopeful, he realized she wanted to know this ever since learning about the destruction of Gallifrey. Did he *know* he was destroying the red grass they had run across, did he know he burnt the cottage in the woods they escaped to as children every time Koschei came off worse in a fight, every time the bullies of their year had taken their failed grade frustration out on arguably the smartest child in the class. It was always Koschei Oakdown. Always Koschei Oakdown who graduated with a quad first, the first time lord in generations to do so, the only time lord still alive who had read the entire ancient tome section, twice. People often failed to recognize the Master's genius. The Doctor was always the one who saw him for what he was, a shared, matched, equal intellect. In every regeneration.

He couldn't lie to her. Even after what she'd done to his body. Perhaps- if he told her this one mercy, perhaps she'd spare him further pain. The regret and dismay gracing her delicate features as she took in his damaged figure, oh, it was beautiful. He licked his chapped lips, the water sloshing around him reminding him of just how dry and scratchy his throat was, just how little water he'd been allowed the past few days. Weeks? God knew how long he'd been here. He shuddered to think if her pets knew about him in the dank, dark room- not inclined to do anything about it of course, except watch him suffer. He didn't think they could sink any lower in his mind. 

"I knew," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. Always her eyes. "I knew *what* it was. When I- I knew what they were. But- the feeling, everything it was to us...it vanished. We disappeared in the smoke. Taunting you about the degenerated bodies- everythin' I'd destroyed. It never calmed all the rage. Never." 

"I wish I could have been there," she whispered, a gentle hand over his. "The destruction I saw, Kosch. It didn't scare me. All worlds die, sooner or later. I've learned that quite a few times in m' life. What scared me- the most- I- was that *you'd* done it. You'd burned everything, alone. An' stood in the ashes. Alone. I thought I lost my best friend forever. I though' the insanity won." 

"It did," the Master growled, finally meeting her gaze with his dark eyes. "Of course it won, Doctor. It always wins." 

"No," the Doctor said quickly, her voice finally strong. "No. It didn't win. It never won. The destruction, Kosch. It wasn't your insanity. It was *you*. Fighting back." 

The Master was stunned silent. His dark, glittering eyes were calming into an ocean of light brown, looking at her as though seeing her for the first time. She chose this moment to dunk the cloth in the basin of water she had gathered, wring it out and apply Antiseptic lotion. She winced, it would sting deep into his skin, possibly down to his bones. But at least this way she would get a better idea of how bad his injuries were, and just what needed to be healed. She met his gaze, her hazel eyes meeting his as she brought the cloth down onto the deep gashes on his chest, criss crossing in an X pattern. The Doctor's lip trembled as she cleaned the dirt and grime out of the blood, it must have been a particularly painful memory. She'd do her best to eradicate it completely. His body started wincing more and more frequently the lower she got with the cloth, barely applying any pressure to the skin as she wiped the layer of dirt away that she could reach. When she hit the wound at the very bottom of his stomach, his back bent upwards in a way that shouldn't have been possible. He swore very loudly, hitting his head against the shower wall. 

"Gods- oh gods, Kosch, M' so sorry," the Doctor's voice was laced with tears, the hand that held the cloth trembling. "Aftah this- how about I wrap y' up nice and warm and get you some tea. Black Yorkshire still your favorite?"

"Two sugars," the Master mumbled, his body letting a soft shiver run through him as he tried relaxing again. "You- remembered m' favorite tea." 

"Course I did," the Doctor replied, flashing him a gentle smile. "An' I remember you like exactly five crunchy biscuits to dunk in the steaming hot water. S' no good cold, is it? Oh, Kosch, have I said somethin' wrong?"

The Master had started to cry again, silent tears running from his one good eye. He shook his head, his hair flopping against the dried blood on his nose that the Doctor immediately went to clean next. It wasn't- she didn't say anything wrong at all. In fact, quite the opposite. She was talking like Theta again, talking as though nothing had changed. Talking as though the death, destruction and flames caused at his hands meant nothing if he would sit down for a warm cuppa with her. He winced as she caressed the soap as gently as she could across the deep wound on his stomach, her hand fluttering briefly in fear before coming to rest on his nose. It was covered in layers of dried blood draining from his left eye; he wondered if he'd be able to see from it again. His nose wrinkled as she brought down the cool washcloth to his skin, applying a tiny bit of force to scrape the dried bits away into the cooling water. His body flinched violently as she reached the bridge of his nose, making her freeze.

"Oh, Kosch-" she whispered, tilting his chin towards her gently so her hazel eyes could look it over. "Let me see. Tha's it, just there. Broken bones across the nostril bridge. So much blood- there's gotta be an infection. D' you want to tell me what happened?" 

He considered, very very briefly, but ultimately shook his head and turned away. The Doctor opened her mouth as though to chide him into saying something more, elaborating on the exact method of torture she had used on him. But she thought better of it and went mute once more as she brushed off the bridge of his nose, right down to the tip. Over and over until every drop of dried blood was gone. The Master's violent tremors slowly calmed as the Doctor wiped down his spine, hesitating before sweeping off the blood on his buttocks. The Master winced, refusing to look her in the eye as she took in two scarlet red whip markings across the bridge of his arse. 

"Don't say anything," he muttered.

Whether this was forgiveness or just a sign that he was growing tired of her incessant need for *some* type of reassurance, she gave a silent nod and wrung the washcloth out once more. A damp pool of blood was starting to surround her but she paid no mind as it crept up to the ends of her nice blue trousers, sloshing around on the tile floor. The Doctor hesitated once again over his eye, gently brushing the dried blood off the eyelid and giving a soft yelp as it flickered around, looking up and down, this way and that in his panic. Determined not to have him chide her again, she pursed her lips together and lifted the eyedrops she had selected with a shaking hand, never more trembling than it was now. She shushed him with gentle cooing noises, her other hand running through his dark strands of hair as she dropped two doses gently into the dried blood. She traced his aching muscles as his eye blinked a few times- once, twice, then started to open again, her relieved smile hazy, but slowly coming into view. 

"Theta," he said gently, as though seeing her for the first time.

"Kosch," she traced the palm of his hand, her smile flickering on the bridge of tears. "Hey, let's give you a break, yeah? Got a nice fluffy robe right here an' I'll take you to the kitchen." 

The Master nodded, a sigh of deep relief escaping his lips when he managed to move his head without the fall of blood. His legs were shaky and unstable as he stood, his cheeks growing red when he toppled over and slipped on the shower tiles, only just managing to hang onto the towel rack. After the Doctor had calmed him down, his shaking remained as he slowly got out of the tub and she wrapped a fluffy robe around his shoulders, allowing him the decency to get himself dry. He hesitated but the corners of his lips twitched into a soft smile at feeling the warm cotton surround his tired, aching shoulders. The healing ointment was starting to sting by the time they had passed the Doctor's little pets in the corridor. 

They all had equal expressions of terror and pity crossing their faces as he glanced at them, which he swore to never do again unless he was putting them all under the death ray of his shrinking device. The girl, he'd get her first. She looked as though she'd give up a fight the most, and he *loved* it when they kicked and screamed. He winced, the dark thoughts protruding his mind as his best enemy cared for him and led him down the halls, an arm wrapped around his shoulders to support his weight. He leaned on her only after she shot him a look, 'what other choice d'ya have?' The Master was silent as she scrambled round the kitchen and eventually had to shout down the halls to ask for the locations of the tea bags, the kettle and the serving plates. He didn't speak until she was sat in front of him with the steaming hot tea and snacks, offering her a gentle grin.

"Theta-" he tried. "I- what y' did. It weren't you. I don't- I don't know *what* it was. But it weren't the Doctor. Coz that- if that is you. I- I don't know who you are anymore. It- it was cruel, vile- it was merciless. It were-" 

"Like you," the Doctor filled in, her voice quiet as strands of blonde hair fell in her eyes. "I know. I see tha' now. I wish- Kosch, I wish you'd tell me what 'appened." 

"No," the Master shook his head as he took a sip of tea. "No. If I did, you'd never forgive yourself. There's enough in your mind as it is, I can see it in your eyes. Always have. Why d' you think I left the recording?" 

"Wha- to mock me?" the Doctor scoffed, pausing at the slight tilt of his head. "If ya' wanted to help me, why didn't you just bloody show up? I searched the whole universe for you. Every night, always scanned the sky. Drove them out there mad." 

"Had a spot of trouble with the Germans," the Master muttered, the shuddering of his body not going unnoticed by the Doctor. "Doctor- I burned Gallifrey, and we're sitting here- having a luncheon?" 

"S' what Brits do, innit?" the Doctor raised a quizzical eyebrow. 

"Like *you'd* know," the Master jabbed. "Can' quite work out the accent this time round. S' it- Liverpool? Manchester? Leeds?"

"Y' know perfectly well its Huddersfield," the Doctor said, her voice dipped in a low growl. "Y' got out alright, though? Germany. I know- I know it were tough in the 40s." 

"I got out alive," the Master replied, harsh and biting. "It's enough to go off, don't you think? Doctor, you're not talking about it. Deliberately avoidin' it every second you can. You want to know why. I can't tell you why. But- you don't know what it was like. You don't know how it feels- to set an entire civilization aflame. The ancient tomes we used to compete over? All gone. I gave you the guided tour already, but you- you saw the aftermath. You didn't stand in the ashes. You didn't see the flames die out. You weren't alone." 

He'd touched a nerve. He knew as soon as the muscle in the Doctor's neck thrummed, flaring up as it did when he made her kneel. Oh, how glorious that was. To see the look on her face, to hold such power over her in a room of clueless spectators. His hand twitched from mere muscle memory, he'd hold that over her for the rest of their lives. This was *nice* for the time being, this gentle, caring side of the Doctor. But he wanted *more.* Their game of cat and mouse had gone on for centuries. He couldn't end it, not now. Oh, she was pacing now. He didn't realize with the thoughts whirling around.

"Y' think I don't know how it feels, Kosch?" the Doctor let out a low, soft chuckle. "You really think I don't know that? I held the choice, not long ago. I could've been you. I could've pressed the big, shiny button. How did it feel, Master? How did it feel burning all the time lord children? How did it feel converting them into your own mad, horrible creations? Children living in the sun, a curse of my own mother exploiting my DNA. How did it feel destroying the last of my race? Coz I'll tell ya one thing. It was never yours." 

The Master went silent again. Her words were harsh, horrible. But he couldn't deny that everything she had said was true. He never felt welcomed in the time lord society. He had always found solace in the Doctor, in Theta Sigma. In their all too short escapes from Boursia as they ran through the corridors and found their favorite cottage. Just over the Mountains of Solace and Solitude, under the glimmering stars. He'd burned that too. 

His legs wobbled as he drained the tea and stood, clutching the walls of the TARDIS for support. The Doctor was instantly panicked, where the ruddy hell did he think he was going? He needed to heal, he needed to calm his body, he was still experiencing post traumatic stress disorder. 

"Master?" she called, rushing after him down the hall. "Master! This is bloody ridiculous, you're bein' an idiot! Where you gonnae go?" 

"Anywhere that's not here," the Master replied. "You're right. Gallifrey was never home t' me. Perhaps that's what made it so easy to burn. Y' want me to feel remorse for the millions I burned. But why should I? They never paid any thought to me. Y' always- y' were so special. So- important. So *needy*. They built you up and tore me down to fit your narrative. Wherever my home is, if I have one, it certainly wasn't there. And it's not here." 

"Koschei!" 

She was scrambling to keep up with him now, but most annoyingly, he reached the console room before her. His dark brown eyes glittered with need, the maniacal glee she was so used to seeing crossed his features once more. This was always to be the fate of her childhood best friend. Destroyed by his own inner darkness of her creation. 

"Th' Division," she panted. "All our promises- y' can't just let it go. Not like this." 

"Promises can be broken," he replied simply. "Good luck, Doctor." 

Before she could question what he meant by his strange choice of words, she gasped as the TARDIS lurched to one side, the console room blaring with red warning lights. Warning lights? That was never possible unless the TARDIS was under siege. The Doctor threw herself at the console, frantically trying to lock onto the source of the disturbance as the Master disappeared, vanishing in a blue teleport beam. She cursed under her breath, she had been so, utterly determined to keep him here this time. A set of stomping footsteps entered the TARDIS doors as the console accepted an unknown transmission- damn him, she'd seen his infuriating grin before he'd vanished.

"Fugitive located, suspect: the Doctor," the Judoon bellowed. "Sentence: whole of life imprisonment!"   
......


End file.
